The One and Only
by little drop of sunshine
Summary: Was Voldemort always too bad even for Slytherin or did he actually have a good side? In his final moments, Voldemort looks back on his life, to the people who changed it and the decisions he made... Some spoilers for Deathly Hallows, please R&R.
1. The Truth At Last

**A/N:Hope you enjoy! Please read, reviews appreciated.**

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Chapter One

_Sunrise was drawing near, the night sky transforming gradually from navy to mauve to a grey-blue. The stars were fading, sparkling for their last time as they disappeared into nothing, and the first rays of sunlight were getting ready to break out over the horizon. All was peaceful and tranquil._

_And below the smoky-blue sky, in the Great Hall of Hogwarts castle, hundreds of witches and wizards, students and teachers, members of the Order of the Phoenix and Death Eaters alike all stood still and silent… watching… waiting…_

_For this was the moment that two enemies had waited for for seventeen years. This was what their lives had led to. One of them was about to kill the other._

_Harry Potter and Lord Voldemort circled each other, Voldemort's gleaming red eyes never leaving Harry's sparkling green ones. Voldemort was filled with an immense hunger; at last, after so many years of plotting and hunting him down, this was the day he was finally going to be rid of the troublesome boy that he hated with his whole heart. _

_'You won't be killing anyone else tonight,' Harry said, as they maintained that perfect circle. _

_Voldemort sneered. Oh, how noble Potter was trying to be! But did he really think that he, a stupid little boy, could ever stop the great Lord Voldemort from doing anything that he wanted to do? And yet, though he would never admit it, deep down, Potter's bravery had always slightly impressed him. But, of course, there was a very fine line between bravery and complete foolishness…_

_'You won't be able to kill any of them, ever again,' Harry continued, 'don't you get it? I was ready to die to stop you hurting these people –' _

_'But you did not!' Voldemort spat back, his hand closing tighter around the Elder Wand, his wand, the wand that would help him defeat Potter once and for all…_

_'- I meant to, and that's what did it. I've done what my mother did,' Potter said, as they continued to prowl around each other, 'they're protected from you. Haven't you noticed how none of the spells you put on them are binding? You can't torture them. You can't touch them. You don't learn from your mistakes, Riddle, do you?'_

_**Riddle?** For a fraction of a second, the word scorched Voldemort's heart like a hot poker, and froze his whole body in shock. No soul had called him Riddle for years, a number of years that he could not remember, and the idea of his Muggle father's name repulsed him… sickened him and disgusted him to the very bone…_

_And now his mind was rapidly and unintentionally wandering and he could do nothing to stop it… what was wrong with him? Was Potter performing Legilimency on him? No…his magic was not that powerful… Voldemort panicked as his own mind took him back to memories that he had not visited in years… for this moment, his focus on Potter vanished… and he was Tom Riddle again…_

The library was deadly silent, the falling snow outside silencing it even more so, with only the small clattering of Madam Thompsett, the librarian, to be heard, organising and rearranging her beloved books.

Most students had gone home for the Christmas holidays, but Tom Riddle was one of the few that remained. Now he sat in the corner of the library, his brow furrowed in concentration as his dark eyes scanned through each of the books that lay in a pile before him.

He sat there for hours, unmoving and silent, reading word after word of books that interested him and books that bored him, searching for the faintest hint of the name he so wanted to see…

'Tom, sweetheart…'

Tom shut the cover of the last book heavily, sighing, and looked up into the face of Madam Thompsett, who was smiling kindly down at him, her large round glasses perched on the end of her short, stubby nose.

'I'm sorry, darling, but you'll have to go… the library has to close for the day,' she said sweetly, picking up some of his books and putting them back on the shelves, as Tom Riddle was the only student she would do this for.

'Maybe you could come back tomorrow to finish off your work?' she asked, sounding hopeful as she replaced the last book.

Tom, who had been simply staring out of the window, surprised to find it dark outside, turned his head and answered his admirer automatically, though his thoughts were somewhere different entirely.

'No, sorry,' he said, and he stood up suddenly, almost knocking the chair over, 'I – I've finished it. I won't need to come back tomorrow.'

'Oh,' Madam Thompsett said, disappointed,' that's a shame. I say, my dear, are you alright? You look very pale…'

'I'm fine,' Tom said, a little sharper than he intended, but he didn't care about charm and manners at the moment… he had more pressing things to deal with…

He walked briskly out of the library, almost running as he set off down the corridor, desperate to get the ideas floating around his head out of his mind… it could not be true… it could not…

But over the last three years, he had searched and asked every record of magic in Hogwarts about it… the portraits, the trophy room, ghosts, teachers, every single book in the library – finishing with those he had just read – but now he had reached the conclusion he had dreaded, even, perhaps, feared…

Tom Riddle Sr. had been a Muggle. He had never set a foot in Hogwarts, had never performed magic, probably never even heard of it, he had never been the great wizard Tom Riddle Jr. had always imagined his father to be. And as Tom skirted round yet another corridor, he ran at full speed in desperation to get away from the images that haunted his mind…

With a brutal force, he remembered what he had said to Dumbledore upon learning he was a wizard just over three years ago: '_Was my father a wizard? My mother can't have_ _been magic, or she wouldn't have died. It must've been him...'_

Tom ran and ran, rage, disgust… and even a little fear building inside of him. What would his fellow Slytherins say when they realised he was a filthy half-blood, not unlike the Mudbloods that they frequently tortured? Would they shun him? No… he was their leader, wasn't he? Marcellus Lestrange and Icarus Avery worshipped the ground that Tom Riddle walked on…

Suddenly Tom stopped as he spotted a light at the end of the corridor, and he noticed how dark it had become without him realising. He saw he was near the Astronomy tower, the other side of the castle to the library…

'Just where do you think you're going?' a girl's voice rang out in the black, empty corridor, and the source of light drew closer as its creator did so.

'What business is it of yours?' Tom snapped, a dark eyebrow raised.

The girl came into view, the light illuminating her face. She was extraordinarily beautiful, with deep navy eyes and shimmering light blonde hair. Tom noticed a 'Ravenclaw Prefect' badge was pinned proudly onto her robes.

'It's my _business_,' the girl snarled, 'when arrogant third years decide to go for a night time wander. Now get back to your common room,' and she added, eyeing the Slytherin emblem emblazoned onto Tom's robes, 'I believe it's several floors below.'

Tom narrowed his eyes and reached for his wand. He wasn't in the mood for bossy prefects and their pointless commands… no-one told _him_ what to do. Quickly checking there was no-one around, Tom drew out his wand…

'What do you think you're doing?!' the Ravenclaw cried angrily, quickly drawing her wand as well.

Tom sent a jinx flying at her, but only for her to block it with a shield charm.

He tried again, but she was too fast, and he dodged one of her jinxes just in time, sending another back, but once again she blocked it…

'Petrificus Totalus!' the Prefect cried, and Tom fell to the floor, frozen and furious.

'Lumos,' the Prefect muttered quietly as she came to stand by Tom, her breathing shallow and a look of pure terror on her face at what she had done.

'Oh no… I'm sorry,' she said, and murmured 'Relashio', though she still kept her wand pointing at Tom.

'You –' Tom began, ready to throw insults at his attacker as he lay on the floor, glaring at her.

'Don't you dare!' she cried, angry again, 'you started it, you arrogant idiot! Listen…' she said, calming herself again, 'Prefects aren't exactly meant to attack students… and you shouldn't be wandering around here at night, let alone starting fights with people… so, why don't we both just keep quiet?'

Tom felt ready to duel again… to make her feel pain like she had never felt pain, because nobody had ever beaten Tom Riddle at a duel before. But her navy eyes calmed him as well… and he knew that this was a good deal… he had the headmaster eating out of the palm of his hand – a very good position for Tom to be in, and something that would surely help him at sometime – and it wasn't something he wanted to watch crumble.

So Tom stood up, and as the Ravenclaw offered him her hand, before he could even truly think about the consequences and his morals, he took it.

'I'm Adonia Breckenridge, by the way,' she introduced herself.

'I'm…' Tom hesitated. Did he really _know_ who he was anymore? He had always said his name with such pride, believing his father to be someone important and special…someone who would make Tom Riddle Jr. different from all other Toms…

But who was he now? He did not want his filthy Muggle father's name… and then he remembered something he had written once whilst practicing his signature… an anagram, and a different name for himself… so much better than the common _Tom_…

Tom smiled, though it looked ghostly and slightly ethereal in the dark.

'Voldemort.'


	2. Tom Foolery

**A/N: To avoid any confusion, please note that the name 'Cathair' is pronounced _Cath-air, _not _Cat-hair. _Hehe. Once again, please read and review!!!!!!!!**

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Chapter Two

'Voldemort?' Adonia scoffed, 'what sort of a name is that?'

Tom glared at her, his dark eyes reducing to slits, but for some reason, he felt suddenly calm again, willing to take her insults, as though anything that made her happy would make him happy too…

'Wait a minute, I know who you are!' Adonia said, sudden realisation crossing her beautiful features, '_you're _Tom Riddle!'

Tom winced at the sound of his name, as though a whip had just slashed him. To his surprise, he struggled inwardly as part of him longed to curse her for saying the name that he now wanted to banish from his life forever… but a larger part of him wanted to kiss her and hold her, to impress her with his bravery…

'Gosh, I always thought you were such a well-behaved boy, a Prefect in the making!' she said, her light blonde hair shimmering in the wandlight, 'and here you are, wandering about at midnight! Which reminds me, get back to your dormitory.' The last sentence was a command, and for once in his life, Tom did not feel the enormous urge to disobey. His legs carried him automatically down the corridor and suddenly he realised there was something very wrong with him… had he been Imperiused? Or Confunded? No, he still felt aware of himself and what he was doing…

'Oh Tom!' Adonia called from behind him, her melodic voice echoing down the corridor, ' don't forget – not a word to anyone about what happened tonight. Understood?'

Tom nodded, and as he grew further and further away from Adonia, he seemed to become himself again, anger increasing… and by the time he said 'Salazar' to let himself into the Slytherin common room, he felt positively mutinous.

He burst into his dormitory where his fellow Slytherin third-years lay asleep and snoring, but that made no difference to Tom.

'Wake up!' he yelled in their ears, and they obeyed immediately.

'What's wrong, Tom?' asked a sleepy Icarus Avery, his dirty blonde hair falling into his eyes.

'You will never refer to me as Tom Riddle again!!' Tom shouted, uncaring of how loud he was being as the fury inside of him threatened to overflow. 'From this moment on, I am Lord Voldemort.'

'Lord Voldemort?' said Marcellus Lestrange, looking a little bemused, 'why –'

'Why I chose this name matters not, Lestrange!'

The room silenced. They did not dare question Tom over this sudden change of heart over his name, the name that he had always uttered with pride and arrogance. He seemed a little mad, his eyes wide, his usually neat, dark hair ruffled.

Tom took several deep breaths, and as his anger subsided a little, he led down on the emerald green covers of his four-poster bed.

'Tell me what you know of Adonia Breckenridge,' he commanded, a little breathlessly, but the force of his tone still persevered.

'I think she's a Ravenclaw prefect, isn't she?' a short, red-haired boy called Cathair Breen piped up, looking around at his companions in search of approval and agreement.

'Yes, I know that,' Tom said icily, 'but what's her blood status?'

'I heard she's half Muggle, half Veela!' laughed Lestrange, 'now if that combination isn't asking for trouble, I don't know what –'

'Half Veela?' Tom interrupted, sitting up abruptly. So that's how she had calmed him, controlled him, made him desire her…

Anger bubbled up inside of Tom again. He had been tricked, and by nothing more than a filthy half-blood... then a sudden thought hit him like a bolt of lightning – he was a half-blood, a filthy Muggle's son… but should he tell his pure-blood friends?

No, of course he shouldn't. There was no need for them to know. He would continue to be the pure-blood he had always pretended to be, the pure-blood that tortured Mudbloods, half-bloods and blood traitors, that showed them as the unworthy scum they really were.

'Yeah,' said Avery, 'she's so full of herself as well, it's unbelievable –'

'Perhaps we should teach her a lesson,' Tom interrupted, his mind whirling with possibilities, 'this Saturday night... agreed?'

And of course, the three boys did so, because no-one disagreed with Lord Voldemort.


	3. The Perfect Prefect

**A/N: To Albus Dumblydore, do not fret, you have received a mention in this chapter, and you will get a cameo very soon. So please, let me call you Ally. Anyway, here's chapter three folks! As always, please read and review!!!**

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Chapter Three

_Voldemort's mind resurfaced into the present time, his head spinning. He refocused on Potter, whose green eyes were staring at him with a casual and infuriatingly calm expectancy, as if he was waiting to hear Voldemort's opinions on the weather forecast._

_It took a moment for Voldemort to remember himself, his purpose… **ahh yes… that was it**… he was here to kill Harry Potter, the boy who had caused him so much trouble and agony… but would never do so again as soon as Lord Voldemort had finished with him. _

_And then the forbidden name flashed across Voldemort's memory… Riddle… the boy had called him_ **_Riddle_…**

'_**You dare –'** Voldemort began, as anger boiled inside of him._

_'Yes, I dare,' Potter interrupted, still with that air of indescribable fearlessness, 'I know things you don't know, Tom Riddle. I know lots of important things that you don't. Want to hear some, before you make another mistake?'_

_Once again, his words shocked – and yet intrigued – Voldemort to the core. What could this arrogant boy possibly know that the great Lord Voldemort did not? Unless…_

_'Is it love again?' he sneered, casually spinning the Elder Wand between his long, white fingers, almost unaware of doing so. 'Dumbledore's favourite solution,_ _**love,**_ _which he claimed conquered death, though love did not stop him falling from the Tower and breaking like an old waxwork?_** _Love,_**_ which did not stop me stamping out your Mudblood mother like a cockroach, Potter –'_

_Voldemort remembered these memories with sadistic relish._** _Poor Dumbledore_,** _who boasted that he was the one and only man who could induce fear into Lord Voldemort…_** _poor Lily Potter_,**_who unnecessarily sacrificed herself for her beloved son… and_** _poor Harry_…** _the little boy who had once admitted proudly to being 'Dumbledore's man though-and-through' and who was about to be rejoined with his Muggle-loving headmaster and Mudblood mother… and all in the name of love…_

_And suddenly, memories of Voldemort's stirred... memories he did not want to visit ever again... memories that paraded his one and only taste of the loathsome love before his eyes… but nevertheless, he was being dragged into them, and there was nothing he could do to stop it…_

The night drew in over Hogwarts castle, and a storm was brewing. But as Tom Riddle and his devoted 'friends' Avery, Breen and Lestrange snuck out of the Slytherin common room, they cared not about what was going on outside… only about what was surely going to be their best night-time torturing yet.

'You know the plan,' Tom whispered to them once they had reached the sixth floor, 'now, the Ravenclaw common room is somewhere around here…' he added, gazing around, and he spotted the spiral staircase that led up to Ravenclaw Tower at the end of the corridor.

No-one asked how Tom knew where the Ravenclaw common room was situated; it was obvious that there he had gone on many operations and explorations without them.

Tom turned to Avery and the others, and an evil smirk crept across his face.

'Go,' he commanded them, and they did.

Tom watched as Lestrange, Avery and Breen ran the length of the corridor, disappearing around the corner out of sight, an evil happiness building in his chest. This would teach that foolish half-blood to never try and trick Lord Voldemort…

Tom waited, and then, as planned, a deafening crash echoed down the corridor, and then Lestrange, Breen and Avery appeared around the corner, brandishing their wands and leaving broken vases and crumbling suits of armour in their wake.

'What _do _you think you're doing?!'

As hoped for, Adonia Breckenridge appeared on the spiral staircase of Ravenclaw tower, her long silvery blonde hair tied up in a neat bun and wearing a fluffy blue dressing gown. Tom had expected her, as a Prefect who took her responsibilities so seriously, to appear and take charge… but he had not expected her to look so beautiful, and for her to begin 'tricking' him yet again…

But even worse, he realised with disgust, was that she was fooling his companions as well, who froze at the sight of her, their eyes wide as they stared longingly at her goddess-like face…

Tom stepped out of the shadows and walked stealthily down the corridor towards his fellow Slytherins, his wand pointing straight at them… and though a growing part of him longed to charm and kiss Adonia, another part knew that she was trying to fool him again, and also knew he had a part to play.

'Vellyfart!' Adonia jeered, 'out again? I think I may have to inform Professor Dippet this time…'

But Tom glared at her, a glare that could freeze even the hottest fire, and she silenced.

'It's Voldemort,' Tom said, and though his tone was meant to be cold, it came out pleasant and even cheery, 'and I am not out late for my own pleasures. I followed these three from the Slytherin common room –' he gave Avery, Lestrange and Breen a contemptuous look, playing his part well, '- I was ready to stop their troublemaking. But –' and as he smouldered at Adonia from beneath his long black lashes, she blushed a little '- if the perfect Prefect can manage without my help, I will, of course, do anything she wants –' and a small smile played across his handsome face '- and return to my common room.'

Adonia blushed a little more, her deep blue eyes gazing at Tom, transfixed. Tom was shocked to find that his heart was beating much too fast, he felt a little too hot as he, as well as the other three boys, stared at Adonia. She was so perfect looking in every way, how he longed, ached, to kiss her… to hold her…

But no… another side of him fought back… of course he shouldn't, what was he thinking? Had he forgotten the plan? Had he forgotten that she was a simple half-blood, half-_Veela_, and how against his principles and basic morals this was? How he disliked her so?

Nevertheless, Tom stepped towards her as if pulled by an invisible rope and felt his breath catch in his throat. No… he must fight… _he must fight_…

But then they were even closer, and though he was two years younger than her, Tom was looking down into her fair face, and now her beauty was overwhelming… his conscience and normal self seemed to fade and die as he smelt her entrancing, floral scent… and his breathing became more shallow, for deep down he knew that this was so wrong, and yet, for this moment, it felt so _right_… and the corridor whirled around him and Lestrange, Avery and Breen's horrified faces became a blur… right now, all that existed for him was Adonia, and only her…

And suddenly, without knowing quite how or when it happened, he found his lips against hers.


	4. Plans and Punishments

**A/N: Here's Chapter 4 folks! Sorry I've been so long updating. I would really appreciate it if I could get some more reviews for this chapter, as I only had 2 for the last one. Please, if you read the story then review as well. Thanks.**

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Chapter Four

Adonia kissed Tom back, and the part of him that had yearned to charm her and flirt with her glowed with triumph and elation. And yet, a rapidly decreasing part of him longed to pull away, for this kiss was completely revolting, unnecessary…weak.

But still, his lips stayed with hers and he felt there was nothing in his power that he could do to stop it. He was deeply attracted to her, and yet repelled from her at the same time…but how could that even be possible?

Suddenly, Tom's lips were torn apart from hers as a jinx hit him from the side and sent him hurtling down the corridor, landing with a mighty crash in one of the broken suits of armour.

Tom clambered up, and he felt in his normal state of mind now, uninterrupted by temptation, a cold fury in his eyes as he searched for the person who had cast the spell.

With a slight jolt, Tom saw that Avery stood glaring at him, his matted blonde hair wild about his face, his dull grey eyes flashing silver as he pointed his wand at his leader.

Tom scowled with revulsion and disappointment, for he understood why Avery had cast the jinx. The charms of a half-Veela seemed to have taken its toll on all of the boys present – himself included, he thought, as he remembered with a mixture of nausea and happiness his actions of only a minute ago – and Icarus was no different. He looked at Tom now with the purest loathing, jealousy livid on his drawn face.

Tom drew out his wand as well, ready to cast a spell at Avery. It mattered not that Icarus was one of Tom's 'friends', he was being careless and foolish, and, in the eyes of Tom Riddle, that was a cause for punishment.

'Mr. Riddle, Mr. Avery, please put your wands away.'

Startled, Tom lowered his wand, and stared down the moonlit corridor, suddenly noticing a glowing aura of wandlight at the very end.

A bolt of anger, mixed with a little fear, shot through his system. For though the light of the wand only brought out a little of it's owners face, highlighting the crooked nose and reflecting off the half-moon spectacles, Tom didn't need the light to know who had just spoken. He would have known that voice anywhere.

Albus Dumbledore.

'I believe it is a little late in the evening for duelling practice, Tom,' Dumbledore said casually, his long auburn hair sweeping around him as he stopped in front of them.

Tom's face was as smooth and as expressionless as though it had been carved of marble, but his eyes glared icily at Dumbledore before he could stop himself.

'Wand away, please Tom,' Dumbledore reminded him, his voice a little sharper.

Tom did as he was told and then remembered that it was time for the plan to really go into action, though he dearly wished that it had been Slughorn that had come to investigate rather than Dumbledore. Slughorn was much more inclined to believe him.

'Miss Breckenridge, I must say I am disappointed to find you out of bed so late at night,' Dumbledore said gently, turning to Adonia, whose hair shined magnificently in the new light and who blushed nervously.

'Oh, well you see, sir, I – we sort of – well, I was in my dormitory when I heard a crash, and so I came to investigate and these three –' she looked towards Avery, Breen and Lestrange, '- were all creating a commotion and then Tom appeared –' she glanced at Tom, embarrassed, '- and he…he helped me and then…you arrived sir.'

At the end of her stammers, her eyes stared at her slippers as she blushed even more furiously.

'Is this true, Tom?' Dumbledore enquired, his sparkling blue eyes fixed on Tom.

A fresh wave of fury engulfed Tom as he realised that his plan had gone desperately wrong. As soon as a teacher had arrived, Tom was supposed to have put the blame on Adonia, and yet, somehow, the fortunes had turned on his accomplices.

But what choice did Tom have but to agree, and besides, there was still a small part of him that would agree to anything Adonia said, just to make her happy…

'Yes, sir,' Tom said the two words stiffly, his face a blank mask of calmness, even though he was boiling over inside.

Dumbledore scrutinized him for a moment over the rim of his spectacles, giving Tom the uncanny feeling that Dumbledore could see something in his features that Tom did not know about.

'Very well. Now, Miss Breckenridge, Mr. Riddle, if you would please return to your dormitories,' Dumbledore said, 'Mr. Breen, Mr. Avery, Mr. Lestrange, follow me please.'

Breen, Avery and Lestrange had still been mesmerised by Adonia's beauty up until that point, but they suddenly seemed to awaken, still not daring to glare at Tom as they walked away, even though he had caused them so much trouble, and undoubtedly a detention each.

As Dumbledore disappeared around the corner of the corridor, Tom and Adonia were alone again.

'Goodnight, Tom,' she said sweetly and quietly as she began to climb the spiral staircase, staring down at him with her glittering navy eyes.

Once again, Tom was torn between the urge to hold her and the natural instinct to ignore her.

Tom struggled desperately and was true to himself as he turned his back on her and proceeded down the staircase to the fifth floor, deadly silent.

Ten minutes later, he lay on his four-poster bed in the Slytherin dormitory, his head whirling and shock numbing his body.

He had kissed Adonia. A shudder crept down his spine and his stomach whirled with nausea at the prospect now, but, disgusting himself as he thought of it again, just a few minutes ago it had seemed that it was all he wanted in the world. Now he could barely breathe for the anger of succumbing to her again.

Just like a few nights ago, he desperately seeked vengeance. But he knew now that she would only trick him again, and, as much as it pained him, this time the person who had angered Tom Riddle would have to be unpunished.

Tom punched his pillow at the prospect of it and struggled to calm himself.

He wasn't entirely certain what had happened tonight, quite how his devious plan had suddenly gone so wrong, but, he decided with a ferocious and furious determination, he would never, ever let it happen again.


	5. An Unknown Ancestor

**A/N: Thanks for all the reviews for Chapter 4, I'm really grateful for them. Please keep reviewing and, of course, reading!**

**This chapter's dedicated to Em and Meg, who apparently, are going to die... but I won't go into that. Thanks for reading guys, and look out for a combination of your names in this chap - Megan, think Greek.**

**Anyway, that was a long author's note. Basically, enjoy!

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Chapter Five

_Once again, it took a moment for Voldemort to recover himself as his mind re-entered the present time. And once again, pain and disgust flowed through him as he realised what he had just seen. His one and only taste of love was a memory he had struggled to block out for all of his life, and he had never wished to be aware of it again._

_Voldemort's fingers tightened around his wand, his hand clenched into a snowy-white fist. What was happening to him?_

_As he continued to keep contact with those excruciatingly green eyes that watched him intently from the other side of the circle, Voldemort suddenly remembered the conversation that he and the Potter boy had been having just a second ago, before he had been forced to endure his past…_

_**Love**__ – a slight shudder crept down Voldemort's spine at the word – they had been talking about __**love**__…_

'_Nobody seems to love you enough to run forward this time, and take my curse,' he hissed at Potter, 'so what will stop you dying now when I strike?'_

'_Just one thing,' said Potter, triumph and smugness seeming to emanate from his very being._

_Voldemort's scarlet eyes narrowed to slits._

'_If it is not love that will save you this time,' he said, suddenly filled with a burning curiosity, 'you must believe that you have magic that I do not, or else a weapon more powerful than mine?'_

_If not for his hatred for Potter and the curiosity that was now flooding him, Voldemort might have laughed at the idea. How could a seventeen year old boy possibly know something about magic that Lord Voldemort did not? The idea was ludicrous, impossible. Yet, and a little fear crept in amongst the curiosity now, what if it was true? Something in the boy's intense and unwavering gaze seemed to suggest that he knew a most valuable secret…_

'_I believe both,' Potter replied._

_For a fraction of a second, Voldemort froze. This was ridiculous. This vermin of a boy was lying, surely._

_But what if he __**wasn't **__lying? What is he knew of monsters or weapons that could help him in his quest to defeat the magnificent Lord Voldemort?_

_No, he could not. Could he?_

_A memory flew to the front of Voldemort's mind, though he yearned and tried to push it away. His eyes longed to take him to the edge of the Great Hall, to the Slytherin table that was pushed against the far wall, a place where he had sat proudly more than fifty years ago. But his angry red eyes refused to take him there, still determined to keep watch on his enemy, and so, his mind took him there instead…_

The Great Hall buzzed with anticipation, hundreds of candles illuminating excited faces, and hundreds of stars illuminating the enchanted ceiling. A new school year was about to begin in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and as the students waited for the first years to enter and to be sorted, the Hall was filled with contented chatter about the new broomstick they had bought over the Summer holidays, how their great aunty had paid for a two-week holiday to Rome for them or how their cousin's friend's father had won a prize for breeding the first naturally pink, five-legged Hippogriff whom he had fondly named Bertie.

However, at the Slytherin table, Tom Riddle – a newly-made fourth year – remained silent, lost in his own thoughts.

'Have you ever heard of the Chamber of Secrets?'

Tom stirred from his thoughts at the question, and faced his companions.

Tom had made some new 'friends' at the end of his third year, and so, as well as Breen, Avery and Lestrange, a third-year called Antonin Dolohov and two fifth-years called Laynard Rosier and Oscar Bulstrode joined him.

Breen seemed to have asked the question, as the other five boys were all looking at him.

'The Chamber of Secrets?' Lestrange repeated, his black, deep-set eyes narrowing a little.

'I heard my father talking about it over the Summer, but he wouldn't tell me-' Breen tried to explain, his cheeks turning pink behind his freckles.

'Of course we've heard of it,' Avery snapped, 'every Slytherin has. Or, at least, any person who dares to call themselves a Slytherin should have heard of it.' He added, smirking cruelly at Breen, while the other boys sniggered.

'Oh…' Breen began, his voice trailing off as he stared at the wooden table in obvious embarrassment.

'I must confess,' said Tom softly, yet his voice was nevertheless dangerous,' that _I_ have never heard of it. Do you believe that _I _am not worthy of the Slytherin house, Icarus?'

The boys all stared at Tom, fear and shock on their faces. They had not realised that their leader was listening.

But Avery looked the most fearful of all of them. The look he wore now was the same which he had shown when he discovered that he had tried to duel Tom in the Christmas holidays last year. A look of utmost terror.

'Well, Avery?' Tom prompted.

'Icarus did not mean that, my Lord,' said Antonin Dolohov, his long, pale face harbouring a pleading expression.

'Honestly, my Lord, I did not,' said Avery hurriedly, 'you are more worthy of the wonderful Slytherin house than all of us put together.'

Satisfied, Tom smiled, though it still looked unnatural and mask-like.

'Tell me of this chamber,' he commanded, and Avery began, his face more relaxed now.

'Well… nobody knows for certain - it's believed to be legend or myth - but the stories say that a few years after Hogwarts was built, the founders began to argue. Gryffindor and Slytherin, to be precise. Gryffindor,' and he said the name with disgust and loathing,' believed that all students capable of magical abilities should be taught at Hogwarts, including half-bloods and Mudbloods, while Slytherin,' and this time he said the name with enormous pride and respect, 'reckoned that the filthy half-bloods and Muds should go back to their Muggle homes, and leave the magic to us Purebloods.'

Some of the boys nodded in agreement, but Tom merely said, 'go on.'

'Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff agreed with Gryffindor, and Slytherin was kicked out of the school, but not before – and this is where nobody's quite sure whether it's real or myth – he built a chamber. It's said to be built underneath the school somewhere, and it holds a great monster, that, if unleashed on the school, could rid it of all the unworthy students – or in other words, Mudbloods and half-bloods.'

'Excellent!' exclaimed Lynard Rosier, grinning broadly to reveal crooked, yellowing teeth. 'Where is this chamber? Why hasn't anybody done this before?'

'That's the problem,' Avery continued, clearly enjoying the attention,' nobody knows where the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets is. My father said he searched Hogwarts high and low for it while he was here, but never found it. And he's not sure he would have been able to open it anyway. Apparently, only the true heir of Salazar Slytherin is able to do it.'

'What about the monster within it? What's that supposed to be?' asked Oscar Bulstrode.

'Apparently, it's a gigantic-'

'Snake.'

All five boys looked at Tom in surprise as he finished Avery's sentence for him.

In truth, Tom was just as surprised as they were that he had known this information. But, he supposed, what else could it possibly be? If this chamber was indeed built by Salazar Slytherin, whose house emblem was a snake and who could even talk to the animals, why would he choose any other creature to guard his Chamber of Secrets? It made perfect logic.

'How did-' Avery began, looking bemusedly at Tom, but once again, he was interrupted as the doors of the Great Hall swung open and Dumbledore appeared carrying a wooden stool and a very old pointed hat, leading forty or fifty first-years behind him.

The chatter of the Great Hall died instantly as the whole school watched the first-years make their way up the hall; everyone enjoyed the Sorting.

Dumbledore set the stool down near the top table and placed the frayed and dirty Sorting hat on top, which immediately began to sing very loudly:

_Another school year is upon us_

_I hope your Summers have been fun_

_For now it's time for learning_

_Until another year is done._

_Gallant Gryffindors are daring_

_To impress us with their might_

_Honest Hufflepuffs are preparing_

_To always do what's right_

_Rational Ravenclaws are keen_

_To demonstrate their brains_

_And Sly Slytherins have been practicing_

_Their clever, cunning ways._

_And now I see that you are tired_

_So I'll keep this short and sweet_

_Have a very clever year,_

_But first, some new friends we must meet._

The Hall burst into applause for the hat, who tried, unsuccessfully, to take a bow.

'Thank you to our Sorting hat for yet another enlightening song!' cried Professor Dippet, getting up from his Headmaster's chair. 'And now, Professor Dumbledore, let us begin!'

Dumbledore smiled and nodded politely, pulling out a long scroll of parchment from the pocket of his smoky-blue robes.

'Abron, Celia!' Dumbledore cried.

A short, plump girl at the front of the queue walked nervously up to the stool. It was obvious to Tom that she was a Mudblood: she looked around the Great Hall gaping, and seemed to think she was in a dream.

She placed the hat upon her frizzy blonde hair and waited a few seconds before it screamed, 'GRYFFINDOR!'

The girl smiled fearfully and waddled over to the Gryffindor table, where cheers and handshakes greeted her, and an abnormally large boy with a wild tangle of black hair patted her jovially on the back, sending her flying into the Gryffindor opposite. Tom resisted the urge to snort. It was typical of the Gryffindors to welcome such filth.

The Sorting continued, with a handsome, cheerful boy called 'Barrett, Hedley' becoming a Hufflepuff and a very tall, gangly girl called 'Bones, Drezilda' became the first Ravenclaw.

Tom watched with mild interest until the name 'Breckenridge, Celesta' caught his attention. A tiny girl with long, shimmering blonde hair skipped up to the stool and placed the hat on her head, which yelled 'RAVENCLAW!' immediately. She walked gracefully over to the Ravenclaw table where her she joined her sister, Adonia.

Adonia hugged her little sister, and suddenly, while Tom was looking at them, she glanced up, Adonia's navy eyes meeting Tom's dark brown ones.

She smiled at him, blushing, and though he tried desperately to glower, the corners of his mouth pulled upwards a little.

Furious with himself, Tom felt himself flush with anger. He had not talked, smiled or even made eye contact with Adonia since that dreadful night a few months ago. He'd tried his best to forget it had ever happened, had forbidden Breen, Avery and Lestrange from talking about it, and, all in all, had done everything he possibly could to avoid Adonia Breckenridge.

Noticing his companions were staring at him, he glared at them, but, to his horror, Marcellus Lestrange gave him a look that so plainly said 'you're only human'.

Tom scowled at the wooden table, his hands clenching into fists beneath it. He could not show everybody how weak he was when Adonia was involved. With a burning passion, he decided he never wanted to be weak again. And as for being human, well, if humanity involved weakness then he supposed he would have to give that up too.

In fact, immortality sounded quite good to Tom. No fears of death or weakness, an immortal person could live forever, could be the most powerful person in the world if they had the skill and knowledge behind them. And, Tom thought smugly to himself, he certainly had that. Many of his teachers had commented that he was the best student that they had had the pleasure to teach, and he knew more magic than many of the sixth years, perhaps even the seventh.

Yes, immortality sounded perfect. He, under the fearful name of Lord Voldemort, could rule the world, could rid it of all Muggles and Mudbloods and Halfbloods.

Tom smiled to himself, feeling incredibly elated. Why had he never thought of this before? And this monster, this Chamber of Secrets, it could be a starting point…

Cheers erupted around him at the Slytherin table, as 'Crabbe, Ebrald' and 'Crodley, Mildred' joined them and Tom stirred from his plotting to clap along with his house members.

He watched absent-mindedly as 'Cummings, Cuthbert' became a Hufflepuff, 'Decker, Megara' a Ravenclaw and 'Devanny, Edward' a Gryffindor. Then 'Diggory, Bernard' was called, and a boy with wild, curly hair walked up to the stool, wringing his hands. He pushed the Sorting hat onto his head and sat there for nearly a minute before it finally bellowed, 'HUFFLEPUFF!'

Tom remembered with pride that the Sorting hat had simply brushed his hair before declaring him a Slytherin, and at the memory, a sudden thought struck him.

What if _he _was the Heir of Salazar Slytherin? He could talk to snakes; he had discovered that several years ago at the orphanage, before he had even known he was a wizard. He laughed inwardly as he remembered setting a wandering grass snake on Amy Benson.

He had been placed in Slytherin house immediately, and he knew nothing of his family – what if they were descendants of Salazar Slytherin himself? Surely, there was too much evidence for this to be a coincidence.

Dazed and daydreaming, Tom heard 'Goyle, Ebenezer' become a Slytherin and 'Hornby, Olive' a Ravenclaw, yet he did not care.

But where was this Chamber of Secrets? _My father said he searched Hogwarts high and low for it while he was here, but never found it -_ that was what Avery had said. However, perhaps there were places that Mr.Avery had not searched. Tom had undoubtedly uncovered more secrets of Hogwarts castle than any other student, if he could not find it, then who could?

'Malfoy, Abraxas!'

A pale faced boy with smooth, white-blonde hair became a Slytherin, followed by 'Mulciber, Carbus' and 'Nott, Xavier'.

'Parsons, Myrtle', a miserable-looking girl with large glasses became a Ravenclaw and a skinny boy with untidy black hair called 'Potter, William' was a Gryffindor.

Tom watched the Sorting end as 'Yaxley, Prudence' became the final Slytherin, but his thoughts were somewhere else.

For as the feast appeared before his eyes, he knew that without a doubt, he wanted to find the Chamber of Secrets more than he had ever wanted anything in his life, and that he would stop at nothing until he unleashed the monster within.


	6. Over The Way

**A/N: Sorry I've been so long updating! As a warning though, I'm not going to be updating nearly as often as usual because I've just gone back to school, and with the fight between homework and fanfiction, I'm sorry to say that homework must come first. :( So don't expect Chapter 7 before the weekend, at the very least.**

**This is quite a short chapter, but please read and review. I was kind of disappointed with the response of reviews last chapter, so please, I'd appreciate some more this time. Thanks! Anyway, enjoy!!!**

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Chapter Six

_Voldemort awakened from his memory, but, to his surprise and pleasure, he felt neither pained nor fearful. In fact, he had almost enjoyed himself; his memory of learning about the Chamber of Secrets was undoubtedly one of his better ones._

_Voldemort scrutinized the unfathomable Potter for a second, thinking over his memory and his thoughts just before he had encountered it. Would Potter's secret weapon be a magnificent chamber? Or the monster that was encased within it?_

_No, Potter did not seem the type to seek such things. Was Potter not the 'noble hero' who believed that righteousness and goodness conquered all?_

_Yet, what if he was possessed by something else? Something powerful and deadly… something out of his control… something that eats away at the mind and the heart and the soul, at the very being of a person… _

_For It was true, was it not, that hatred was a most powerful emotion. It could make a person gain strength out of weakness, light out of darkness, living purely because of an immense loathing or a quest for revenge. This had been the main fuel for Lord Voldemort's survival sixteen years ago – his incredible hate for Harry Potter._

_And if Potter's 'secret weapon' __**was **__hatred, well, then it was no match for Lord Voldemort's. Surely, he had no reason to worry. For he had had much more hatred in his life than Potter… much more indeed…_

It was the last night of July, and the village of Little Hangleton lay quiet and serene under the moonlit sky. Little light came from the cottage windows and most residents were enjoying a good night's sleep after a warm, busy day.

But Tom Riddle had more important things to attend to than sleep, and as he walked briskly down the dark cobbled street, he was filled with a furious determination.

He was soon leaving the village, his feet automatically leading him up a sloping path cut into the hillside, though he had never been here before.

He passed a little church and a cemetery, slightly eerie in the silver moonlight, but he did not pay them a care – he knew where he longed to be, and it was not there.

The path gradually became more overgrown, brambles and nettles clinging and cutting at Tom's Muggle clothes; clearly, this path was quite disused.

Finally, he reached the top of the hill and Tom knew that this was indeed the 'big house over the way' that his uncle Morfin Gaunt had talked about.

A grand, old manor house stood proudly in amongst vast gardens and flowerbeds, moonlight reflecting off its many windows and highlighting its beautiful stone façade. A long, winding drive led from the house to where Tom stood, but a tall, ivy-embroidered wall and intimidating iron gates separated the two.

The gates were bound together with at least ten different locks and chains – the occupants of this house obviously did not welcome visitors – but Tom knew that Muggle security was far too easy to break free of.

Drawing out Morfin's wand, he whispered 'Alohomora', pushed open the squeaking gates as silently as he could and started up the drive.

A few windows of the house were still lit, the curtains drawn but still allowing golden light to spill out onto the front lawns. Tom smiled, his eyes gleaming with malevolence. An awake household would make this much more entertaining.

Tom reached the large porch of the house, once again magically opening the locked front door and let himself quietly into the house, closing the wooden front door onto the still, tranquil night behind him.

Five years ago, before he had ever attended Hogwarts, Tom would have found the hall of the manor house to be the most beautiful room he had ever seen: the polished marble floor shone as magnificently as if it was a mirror, a single, crystal chandelier hung proudly and grandly from a high, embellished ceiling, and a masterful oak staircase led to the upper floors. Yet, Tom now jeered at this room, for to him, it possessed neither the pure magic or unbridled majesty that even the Hogwart's broom cupboards exhibited. No, to Tom Riddle, this was a filthy Muggle's residence and therefore even worse than a pig's sty.

Hearing voices coming from a room on his left, Tom headed to the door, casting Muggle-repelling and silencing charms on his way. He did not want to be disturbed.

His long fingers reached for the door handle, the brass seeming to burn his hand, and softly turning it, Tom gently pushed open the door.

The first thing Tom noticed was a large, over-decorated fireplace set against the back wall, flames dancing behind an iron grate. But, of more interest to Tom, around the light of the glowing fire sat three figures; each of them with their backs to their new visitor and each perched in comfortable-looking leather armchairs.

Unexpectedly mesmerised, Tom closed the door silently behind himself as he stepped into the room. He could not take his eyes off the three people, try as he desperately did. These were his family, disgusting and primeval Muggles though they were.

But suddenly, hatred shot through him, scorching his insides and making him twitch a little, involuntarily. He must remember his purpose, his desire for coming here… they weren't family… no, they were enemies…

And with that determined and ferocious thought, he stepped forward into the room, and announced his arrival.


	7. Broken Riddles

**A/N: I'm so sorry that I haven't updated in so long, and I know that most of you will have stopped reading - and I don't blame you. But please, if you are still reading and enjoying my story, then review this chapter. It's been a really difficult chapter to write, and lots of reviews from my fab fans would be a great reward. Thank you!!!**

**I really will try and update sooner for Chapter 8.**

**L-D-O-S x x x**

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Chapter Seven

'Room for another?' Tom jeered, arrogantly striding into the room, and intending on falling casually into a spare armchair.

But the sight of his family's faces stopped him abruptly. For though hatred and loathing consumed him, he also felt even more mesmerised than he had been at their figures as the light of the fire threw their faces into recognition.

Each of the Riddles wore an expression of pure shock, but this was not what interested Tom. No, it was their noses, their eyes, their features that intrigued him, intrigued and hypnotised him more than he could ever have imagined. For in them he found himself.

Mr. Riddle sat in the tallest armchair, a small glass of brandy clasped in his wrinkled hand. His eyes were dark and unfathomable, and his long nose fell into a silver moustache. He also had the air of a powerful military figure about him, or a particularly feared schoolmaster, and the look of surprise that adorned his defined face did not suit Mr. Riddle.

Next to him sat Mrs. Riddle, tall and thin, with elegant, greying hair and a slightly up-turned nose. Her large, beautiful eyes widened at the sight of her unexpected and unwanted visitor.

And then there was their son, Tom Riddle Senior, who had been sitting in the third armchair, but was standing now. His eyes were round with surprise, yet it was he who found his voice first.

'I say, just who do you think you are?' he exclaimed pompously, the alarm leaving his face and anger rising in his voice, 'this is a private house! Troublesome riff-raff like yourself are strictly prohibited! How did you get past the gates? Did Frank let you through here?'

His eyes narrowed suspiciously now, eyeing his son calculatingly.

Tom's face was blank for a moment. His father had no idea who he was. It took him a few seconds to think that through, and he was shocked to find a small bolt of pain rush through him at the thought. Ridiculous. He quickly set it aside and organised his face into a mocking smile.

'Frank? I'm afraid I don't know who you mean. But no, I entered alone.'

'Poppycock!' Mr. Riddle said loudly, the surprise gone and his face set into a firm frown. 'Impossible! Our gates are the strongest and most security-tight in all of England!'

Tom laughed, cold and humourless.

'To you, filthy Muggle, then yes, I suppose they would be.'

'I say, what did you call me boy?' Mr. Riddle stood immediately, the brandy in his glass swishing threateningly against the sides. Mrs. Riddle alone remained seated, and she too, alone, retained that look of pure surprise.

'You see, those gates were much too easy for me. A thousand locks could not hold _me_ out,' Tom said gently, a touch of arrogance to his tone, ignoring his grandfather's comment.

'Nonsense! Complete and utter nonsense!' Mr. Riddle yelled.

'I absolutely agree,' replied his son, 'the butler can see to him. Tibbs!'

Tom Riddle Senior waited a moment, and then looked a little bewildered.

'TIBBS!'

'He will not come.'

The softness and sureness in Tom Junior's voice startled his father and grandfather into silence.

'What do you mean, he won't come?' Tom Senior asked quietly, eyeing Tom suspiciously, looking a little worried. 'What have you done?'

'I've taken some precautions, that's all,' Tom said. An unearthly, ghostly grin spread gradually across his face, making his eyes shine with something wild and savage. He then added, his malevolent grin still intact,' in my opinion, servants have the most annoying habit of bursting into the room at the most…inopportune times.'

Tom watched his family, as they searched for words to say, with the expression of a hungry cat, unable to resist the urge to play with his food before he finally ate it.

'Who are you?' Tom Riddle Senior asked, his voice low and quiet.

His son grinned again, that same frightening, unflattering smile.

'I? I am much more than any of you will ever be. I have strength, knowledge, powers that scum like you can only begin to dream of. And if I was not already superior enough compared to yourselves, then think of this – someday I will be even more so! But above all this, much more important than all this: I am... a wizard.'

A small moment of silence was broken with a loud, croaky laughter.

'A wizard?!' Mr. Riddle repeated, bellowing with laughter, 'I do believe that you are not entirely well, insolent boy. Why – look at your clothes! You have walked straight out of the nut-house, have you not?'

Tom glanced quickly downwards at his Muggle clothes, the clothes that his orphanage had provided him with – the old grey shirt and the dull, black trousers that were too short where Tom had grown over the years.

A fury bubbled inside of him, and combined with the hatred he had been feeling, Tom felt mutinous.

'So you do not believe in magic then, old fool?' Tom asked, barely able to keep his voice level.

'I should jolly well think not!' Mr. Riddle chuckled, tutting a little at the possibility. However, Mrs. Riddle and their son did not seem to agree – Mrs. Riddle still stared unblinkingly at her grandson with curiosity and shock, and Tom Riddle Senior's face was visibly growing paler and paler, his eyes wide in fear.

'Then perhaps… I had better change your mind…' Tom said through gritted teeth and drew out his wand. He spotted an expensive-looking cabinet in the corner of the room, and presently, with his wand, set it on fire.

'I say!! That cabinet was full of my best trophies!' Tom Riddle Senior bellowed angrily, quickly awakened from his trance by the sudden appearance of flames.

'You –' Mr. Riddle started towards his grandson, furious.

But with a quick swish of his wand, just as Dumbledore had done in Tom's room at the orphanage several years before, Tom made the flames vanish instantly, the trophies unharmed and untarnished.

Mr. Riddle stopped in his pursuit of Tom, and Tom Riddle Senior turned around slowly to look at his son, looking very nauseated and thoroughly terrified.

Mr. Riddle's brandy glass slipped through his fingers, but he caught it nimbly before it hit the ground.

'You – h-how – I –' Tom Riddle Senior stammered incoherently, his face bone white.

But then, for the first time, Mrs. Riddle spoke.

'Who _are_ you?' she said to her grandson, repeating her son's question. Her voice was unexpectedly brittle and croaky, as if it hadn't been used for a while. 'You look very…familiar…' her voice trailed off.

To his surprise, Tom felt obliged to answer her. Perhaps this was the perfect time to reveal his ultimate secret…

He grinned again, revealing his dazzling teeth - yet not producing a particularly attractive smile - before saying, just above a whisper:

'Tom Riddle.'

The two, quietly-spoken words had a great effect. Mrs. Riddle let out an audible, rattling gasp, closing her eyes and muttering something continually under her breath. Mr. Riddle's glass of brandy finally slipped from his hand and broke into thousands of pieces as it hit the floor, before he collapsed, awestruck, into his armchair.

Only Tom Riddle Senior stayed standing, and he walked, slowly, gracefully, towards his son, seemingly shocked into hypnosis. Soon they stood facing each other, two dark eyes staring at another two, two perfectly straight noses just a little away from each other, two chiselled jaws, two pale, handsome faces… if Tom had wanted to know what he would look like in twenty or so years time, he need only look at his father. They stood as if each were facing a mirror, with the only differences being Tom Senior's slight wrinkles, or Tom Junior's thicker hair.

Tom didn't know how long he stood there, simply looking at his father, his mind was so blank, his heart so unfeeling of any emotion – or perhaps it was too feeling of _every _emotion; he could not tell – but when he finally awoke from his trance, it was with a start, as his grandfather spoke.

'Lies,' said Mr. Riddle, looking a little mad as he stood up abruptly, striding over the broken glass towards his grandson, 'LIES! TRICKERY!!!'

He caught Tom by the scruff of his shirt, pulling him near to his angry, suddenly deranged face.

Tom looked into his grandfather's black eyes and laughed coldly.

'Do you really think so, Riddle?' he asked casually, drawing out his wand as he did so and pointing it at Mr. Riddle's chest.

'Don't you brandish that twig at me!' Mr. Riddle yelled, though he let go of Tom at once, stepping back from him.

Tom laughed again, despising his family to the very bone. But he lowered his wand and began to twirl it absent-mindedly between his long fingers, deciding he wanted to entertain himself a little more before he finally disposed of his family.

'You're wrong, by the way,' he said casually to Mr. Riddle as he paced the room, the wand still playing around his hand, 'I have told you truths and nothing but. In fact, it has been I who has considered myself lied to…and lied to for all of my life.

'I believed you all to be magical, you see. How great my father must be!' he said, rounding on the frightened-looking Tom Senior, 'a father of mine must be truly special. The greatest wizard of all time! Ha!' he laughed that humourless laugh again, 'but I was wrong. Deceived. _Tricked_,' he said softly, glaring briefly at his grandfather,' because it wasn't you who was magic, was it _Tom_? Not that arrogant swine Tom Riddle, whose name his magnificent wizard of a son had to share. No, Tom Riddle is just a Muggle. A cowardly scum of a Muggle. Who left his wife, a witch no less, poor and pregnant…'

Tom's voice drifted away and he stared with the purest loathing at his father.

'I – I … it's not true!!' Tom Senior bellowed. 'None of it!' He looked pleadingly at his mother and father, but their eyes were only for their grandson. A single tear rolled down Mrs. Riddle's rouged cheek.

Tom's mouth pulled up into an evil sneer.

'You're lying, Tom,' he said softly, '_lying_.'

And then, he rose his wand and – feeling hatred burn through his body – roared ,'CRUCIO!'

Tom Senior screamed in anguish as he slid to the floor, twitching and writhing in pain. His son grinned as he watched Tom twisting in torment, his arms flailing pointlessly as he struggled against the curse that engulfed him. Tom Junior lowered his wand, that ghostly grin still etched onto his face.

'S-st-t-op…p-please…' his father gasped, crawling slowly to his son. But Tom had different ideas.

He had just performed a most powerful curse… surely he had to see whether he could do it again…

'Crucio!' he shouted again, and Tom Riddle Senior screamed in torture, sinking back to the floor and digging his fingers into his head, ripping out hairs and kicking and twisting wildly.

His parents watched, horrified, but said nothing.

Tom lowered his wand again, silently jeering at his father.

Tom Senior tried to stand, but fell heavily to the floor again, his breathing harsh, cold sweat running down his face.

His son sat down in the fourth armchair thoughtlessly, still smiling a little.

'Is… is this true, Tom?' Mrs. Riddle asked her son eventually, her voice a few notes higher from undisguisable fright.

Tom Senior hesitated, but slowly sat up and nodded.

Mrs. Riddle sighed, and another tear slid down her cheek.

'Why have you come here?' she asked her grandson quietly, 'we obviously mean nothing to you, and you to us. Do you have a purpose?'

'A purpose?' Tom repeated, 'oh yes, I do indeed. In fact, why prolong it for any longer? You have no excuses, no apologies… the entertainment is over.'

He stood up again and raised his wand at Mrs. Riddle, who gaped at him in terror.

'NO!!!' Mr. Riddle screamed, but it was already too late.

'AVADA KEDAVRA!!!'

A single jet of glowing green light issued from Tom's wand, and hit his grandmother in the chest, and she drooped, her face still staring at him in horror.

Tom's breathing was a little shallow. He had killed his grandmother. And yet, he felt no remorse, no heartache… just enjoyment.

Mr. Riddle was holding his wife in his arms, tears falling silently down his cheek and into his moustache, while his son, now standing, remained frozen with dread.

Tom watched his grandfather, revolted, and sent a second jet of green light towards him, hitting him squarely in the back, and he fell onto his wife, broken and lifeless.

'And then there were two…' Tom murmured, smirking.

'So you have nothing to say to me, Riddle?' he sneered at his father, 'nothing at all to say to the son you abandoned?'

Tom Senior flinched, his face going slightly green.

'I… I-I'm…' he began, 'I'm s-sorry.'

It was obvious that he had never apologised to anyone in his life - he looked disgusted with himself as he said the word.

His son laughed mockingly.

'Merciful as I am, _Tom_, I am afraid that really isn't good enough… any last requests before you meet your death?' Tom Junior said, twirling his wand.

His father's eyes widened in alarm.

'No!! N-no!! Please, please don't kill me!!!' he cried, falling to his knees, pleading unashamedly, 'I'm your father!!!! Your own flesh and blood!!! Does that mean _nothing _to you… son?'

Tom flinched involuntarily at being addressed this way. Once he killed his father then he would truly be an orphan... no family, not even Muggles...

But a larger, more dominant part of Tom fought back, and that part of him said, 'flesh and blood? I don't think so. You'll never share _my _blood, you vile, verminous parasite.'

And Tom raised his wand once more, pointing it at his father.

'NO!!! PLEASE!'

'Avada Kedavra.' The words slid from Tom's mouth, almost whispered.

His father seemed to fall slowly to the floor, wilted and empty, like an old marionette.

Tom Riddle kneeled to look shortly into the face of his father, white and already cold, the man he had once believed to be so great… and Voldemort arose, leaving Tom Riddle behind him.


	8. Manners Matter

**A/N: This is kind of an uneventful chapter, but I hope you like it all the same. Thanks for all the reviews last chapter, really appreciated it. It would be really nice to have even more for this! Thank you :)**

**L.D.O.S xxx**

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Chapter Eight

_Voldemort aroused from his thoughts once again, a smirk playing across his face. His heart filled with amusement at the memory of his father's death, how he had pleaded and begged for life and how he, his only son, had politely refused it._

_And then he remembered Potter, whose vivid green eyes he still held with his own, and he remembered their conversation, why he was here, what he was doing and finally… Potter's _weapon_…_

_Ah yes, Potter's weapon. It was undeniable that Potter's weapon could not be hatred. Had he not boasted about the wonders of love since he had first met Dumbledore? Yet, what could this weapon be? Whatever it was, surely he could not believe that it would be able to defeat Lord Voldemort…_

_Voldemort laughed, almost a shriek, icy and lifeless, and it echoed eerily around the Great Hall._

'_You think _you _know more magic than I do?' he said mockingly, his face pulled into a sneer. 'Than _I_, than Lord Voldemort, who has performed magic that Dumbledore himself never dreamed of?'_

'_Oh, he dreamed of it,' said Potter smugly, 'but he knew more than you, knew enough not to do what you've done.'_

_Anger bristled inside of Voldemort, rising and slithering inside of him._

'_You mean he was weak!' he screamed madly, 'too weak to dare, too weak to take what might have been his, what will be mine!'_

_The fury inside of him roared in triumph. Hogwarts, the wizarding world… the _entire_ world was so nearly in his grasp, would so soon be his… as long as he could rid himself of Potter…_

'_No, he was clever than you,' Potter replied calmly, 'a better wizard, a better man.'_

_A quiet growl emanated somewhere from Voldemort, the anger maddening as it boiled and bubbled, seething from him._

_How he _loathed_ Dumbledore. If it was not for him, disposing of Potter would have been undoubtedly easier... but he had helped him, trained him…_

_But Dumbledore was gone now… wasn't he? A little fear prickled inside of Voldemort. Of course Dumbledore was dead…_

'_I brought about the death of Albus Dumbledore!' Voldemort screamed, though he was not sure who he was really trying to convince – Potter… or himself._

_Those bellowed words suddenly made him wonder… how many deaths _had _he brought about in his lifetime? And how many times had he wished Dumbledore dead; even been on the brink of killing him at that very moment?_

_And with those thoughts, he found himself being abruptly dragged into his own memories once again…_

Voldemort walked stealthily through the corridors, determination soaring through him. Rain drops that clung to his sleek dark hair glistened, crystal-like, and his long Hogwarts robes – a badge declaring 'Head Boy' pinned neatly to his chest – swished elegantly around him. His pale face wore an expression of the purest ferocity; yet he seemed to buzz with arrogance as he walked.

There was no doubting that Voldemort was more handsome than he had ever been, his boyhood self merely a shadow of the eighteen-year-old, and many of the girls he passed by noticed, most of them simply stunned by his beauty.

He reached the seventh floor, his walk getting faster as he drew nearer to his destination.

Rain splattered noisily against the castle windows, but Voldemort barely noticed. He stopped outside the stone gargoyle that stood proudly before him, and said, '_carpe diem_.'

The statue jumped nimbly aside, and a spiral staircase began to appear before Voldemort, who stepped onto it quickly. The ascending staircase carried him to a pair of large, wooden doors, which he briskly knocked.

'Come in,' said a voice from within, and Voldemort presently obeyed.

The Headmaster's office was dark and gloomy, the rain clouds outside refusing the entry of light. The portraits of previous headmasters that hung so elegantly around the circular walls were all snoozing quietly, and a large fiddle sat on a small table near a tall grandfather clock with seven hands.

Professor Armando Dippet sat at his desk, scribbling something hastily onto a piece of parchment. He wore burgundy robes with a simple golden edging to them, and the bowing of his head as he wrote displayed a bald patch about the size of a galleon growing amongst his white curls. Dippet was old and withered-looking, age marks in abundance on his wrinkled skin and wearing a very ancient pair of wiry spectacles, but his face shone when he glanced upwards and saw Tom Riddle standing before him, though with his poor eyesight, he had difficulty making him out.

'Ah – Tom! On time as always, I see!' he cried, smiling at his favourite student. 'Please, take a seat.'

Voldemort sat in the crooked seat that he indicated, and forced a mechanical smile onto his face.

Dippet beamed back.

'I trust you know why I have come, Headmaster?'

Dippet's smile vanished instantly, replaced by a look of awkwardness and regret.

'Ahhh… yes…' he said, scratching his ear absent-mindedly, '…may I offer you a glass of Butterbeer, Tom? Quite a cold day today… nothing like a good Butterbeer to warm you up!' He changed the subject chirpily, reaching for the nearby bottle, though he clipped it a little accidentally with his finger.

'No. Thank you,' Voldemort said a little stiffly.

'Oh…very well…' said Dippet, the bounciness in his voice disappearing, though he still poured himself a glass.

Voldemort waited for Dippet to break the silence, but when he did not, decided to speak himself.

'I will be leaving Hogwarts in a months time, Professor, but, as you have probably guessed, I do not wish to do so,' Voldemort informed him, his dark eyes never swaying from Dippet's. 'This school has been my home for the last seven years; the only true home that I have ever known. So I am offering you my skills, Headmaster - my knowledge and qualifications. As you know, I have thirteen OWLs to my name and have sat seven NEWT exams, as well as having a deeper knowledge and understanding of many magical qualities that most wizards of my age have not. I believe I could be a very helpful addition to your teaching force, sir. That is, of course, if you will allow me to be.'

Voldemort finished with another robotic smile - dazzling… yet unreal.

Dippet seemed to take a long time to respond, his eyes looking - unfocused - at anything but Voldemort as he searched for words. Finally, he gazed at him and let out a heavy, tired sigh.

'Oh Tom… Tom, Tom, Tom…' Dippet smiled sadly, drinking some Butterbeer before continuing, 'I know that you will someday make an excellent teacher, and Hogwarts would be extremely honoured to have you –'

He stopped and looked regretfully at Voldemort again, this time downing his Butterbeer.

'-but… well, you are only eighteen Tom. Don't you want to explore the world a little, before you settle down with such a demanding job?'

'No, sir,' Voldemort answered immediately, and the suddenness of his reply seemed to fairly shock Dippet, 'this is definitely what I want to do. This... is what I have _always_ wanted to do.'

'I see...' Dippet said, his brown eyes full of undisguised interest as he stared and squinted at Voldemort's determined face, 'well… perhaps I could reconsider…if this is really what you want…'

Voldemort smiled politely and sat back in the rickety chair, feeling his work was complete. Moments passed and still no-one said anything; Voldemort sat still and relaxed, absent-mindedly brushing down his robes with his right hand, but Dippet was uneasy, his brow furrowed and biting his lip as he sat deep in thought.

'No,' Dippet said suddenly, his mind changed, 'no, I'm terribly sorry Tom. I desperately feel that you are too young. Please, go out and learn more from the world! A wizard of your talents should not put a stop to his learning simply because his school education is nearly completed.'

Voldemort abruptly sat up onto the end of his seat, his hands clasping forcefully to the edge of Dippet's desk. His eyes burned with madness, fury, and for a moment, his face threatened to betray his good manner. For manners had mattered in all of his plots and plans more than anything else... so he hid his unsightly rage away - with some difficulty - and rearranged his expression into a look of polite pleading, though his eyes, completely unnoticed by Dippet, continued to seeth, a small glint of scarlet to them.

'But, Professor Dippet – think of the things I could teach the students! I need no experience; I already know more than a wizard who has seen the world a thousand times!' Voldemort exclaimed, his voice a little sharper than intended.

'I'm sorry, Tom. I remain set in my decision,' Dippet told him, looking at his prized student in a plea for forgiveness, 'but please, Tom, why don't you reapply in a few years? You will be most welcome, dear boy! And think – no-one could possibly turn you down when you have a few years of worldly experience at your hands, as well as book-knowledge.'

Voldemort forced his face into an amiable smile again, though anger was bubbling inside, 'of course, sir. You are perfectly correct, as always, Professor Dippet. Now, I'm afraid I must join my friends in the Great Hall for lunch. Goodbye, Headmaster.'

He got up stiffly and began to walk out of the office, but as his hand reached for the golden handle of the great wooden doors, Dippet said again softly, 'I truly am sorry, Tom.'

Voldemort spun around gradually and smiled again, mask-like, his eyes shining with something that contradicted his expression.

He did not feel he could speak without illuminating his rage and so he walked briskly out of the door, unintentionally shutting it loudly behind him.

Voldemort sprinted down the descending staircase and burst out into the seventh floor corridor. His plans were ruined… or at least, for now they were…

He kept running, his robes flying wildly around him, his breath becoming shallow... he was hardly aware of where he was going…

Until he stopped suddenly, as something caught his eye.

The fifth floor corridor was deserted, except for somebody at the very end, a ghost, gliding gracefully towards Voldemort.

The Grey Lady came properly into view now, her faint pearly light glowing slightly, long transparent curls flowing down her back and a scowling face was buried in a book that Voldemort instantly recognised as a book of magical history – a book he had once read in the library, when searching for his father's name.

He stared at her for what seemed to be a very long time, deciding his actions.

Voldemort had wanted to remain at Hogwarts for several purposes, though the most dominant was to unlock more of Hogwarts' secrets. He undoubtedly knew more of this castle than any other student ever had, but surely there was more to find?

And besides which, perhaps he would come across another wonderful object, another wonderful object that could honour a fragment of his soul…

Voldemort thought instantly of his two Horcruxes – his old diary, currently residing with him at all times (he automatically checked his robe's inside pocket and sighed with relief when he felt the leather binding caress his fingers) and his grandfather's ring, hidden safely in the Gaunt shack. He smiled to himself at his marvellous security.

But yes, perhaps The Grey Lady could help him on his quest. He had charmed enough people into getting what he wanted... ghosts could be no different.

'The Grey Lady?' Voldemort enquired politely.

The Grey Lady glanced coldly at the boy who had disturbed her reading, and stopped hesitantly to scowl sulkily at him, slamming the book between her palms in a deliberately forceful way.

'Do you know that there is no mention of me _whatsoever_ in this book?' she cried, brandishing the book at Voldemort, who raised his eyebrows coolly at her. 'Nothing! Not a tiny phrase that holds my name! _Greatest Witches And Wizards Of the Last Millennium _– that's the name it boasts! And nothing! Absolutely nothing! Does no-one remember me at all?'

Voldemort resisted the urge to laugh or to taunt, and instead decided it was much better to agree with her, if he wanted to get the information he longed for.

'That's disgraceful, my lady,' he said, not able to fully hide the sarcasm in his voice, but thankfully, she did not notice. 'But perhaps you should check another book?'

'Yes…' said The Grey Lady, a little calmer, 'yes, I was being ridiculous. Of course I must be mentioned _somewhere_!'

'I will escort you to the library,' Voldemort stated sweetly, sickening himself, 'and we can look over every book for the name of The Grey Lady.'

'The Grey Lady?!' she almost yelled, the sound echoing slightly in the empty corridor. 'Why must _everyone_ refer to me with that _odious_ name? I never was and never will be _grey_. Well…' She glanced involuntarily at her body, emanating that greyish-white glow that all ghosts produced. She shook her head slightly, not allowing this to bother her in her passionate speech.

'Then what is your true name, ma'am?' Voldemort asked, feigning interest.

'My _true_ name? My true name is a name that nobody seems to know anymore – not person _or _book! My _true_ _name, _dear boy...is Helena Ravenclaw.'


	9. Death Wishes

**A/N: I know, I know, I'm really sorry that I've been so long updating. I really am trying! I don't know how Meg and Em do it (for their super-fast-updated stories check out Moonlight Silhouette and Moondancing Millie :) ). Thanks to everybody who's still reading, you are very patient and I love you all! By the way, this may be a little cheeky, but I'd really, really like to reach 50 reviews by chapter 12, so _please _if you read this then review!!!**

**Anyway, this is a bit of a short chapter, but I hope you enjoy it anyway! Thank you!!!**

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Chapter Nine

Voldemort froze, a small buzz dancing down his spine and then back up again. This was better than he had ever dared to dream for… if it was true.

'Helena Ravenclaw?' he repeated, unable to fully diminish his excitement.

'Indeed!' said the Grey Lady, raising her head proudly, 'daughter of Rowena Ravenclaw – one of the four founders of this very school!'

Voldemort registered this and instantly knew that if he wanted the information that she could give him, he would have to be at his most charming and flattering.

'And undoubtedly much more intelligent than her mother ever was,' he continued her speech with a forced, flirtatious smile, 'and, of course… much, much more beautiful.'

If she could have blushed, then the Grey Lady would definitely have done so. Instead, her cheeks became more opaque, and she batted her long lashes, a small smile creeping across her face.

'You flatter me, dear boy,' she simpered, avoiding Voldemort's eyes in her embarrassment.

Voldemort smiled back a little, but secretly his mind raced as he thought over exactly what he wanted to know. There must be a valuable object she had heard or known of… after all, only the most prized, honourable objects could do for _his_ six Horcruxes…

And then, a thought struck him, clear and sudden, and he wondered wordlessly why he could have possibly not thought of it before…

'I say, Miss Ravenclaw,' Voldemort wondered aloud, becoming involuntarily pompous, 'have you heard of the myth of Rowena Ravenclaw's diadem?'

Helena stared at Voldemort, her pale eyes wide.

'Myth?' she repeated incredulously, '_myth_? It's anything but a myth! It's real my darling, completely real.'

Voldemort's heart hammered a little faster against his ribs.

'It's real?' he questioned her, not truly daring to believe her words just yet.

'Perfectly real!' she chuckled a little, scoffing at his lack of knowledge of the fact. 'I was Rowena Ravenclaw's _daughter_. I should know better than any body else – living or dead – whether or not the diadem existed.'

'And it did? It did exist?' Voldemort pressed, unable to hide his excitement now.

'_Did? _It still _does!_' The Grey Lady said, obviously revelling in this sudden male attention: the eyelashes that framed her wide, disbelieving eyes fluttered suggestively and she absent-mindedly twirled a ringlet of ghostly hair around her little finger.

'But where? Where is it? Why hasn't anyone found it??' Voldemort twitched slightly, a maddening red gleam beginning to glint in his eyes. So many questions were whirling through his head; his mouth could not move fast enough to form them all…

'Dear boy,' The Grey Lady murmured, 'please, calm yourself. Why do you wish to know? A school project?'

Voldemort nodded wordlessly, biting hard on his lower lip to stop himself shaking her and hurting her as much as he could for keeping him waiting, but no, he needed to be patient…_very patient_…

Fortunately, The Grey Lady was too flattered by his charm and attention to question him further about his purpose, and, happily, she began to settle into her story.

'Very well…' she smiled coyly, 'You _are_ good at keeping secrets, aren't you?'

'Exceptionally so, my lady,' Voldemort charmed her, desperately hiding his hysterical excitement.

'Yes… well, as you know… the diadem bestows great wisdom upon its wearer. For so long, it had been my mother. She was the most knowledgeable, intelligent witch throughout the land… throughout the entire world, perhaps. But… well, you see… after a while, I got… well, I got a little…' The Grey Lady avoided Voldemort's eyes in her obvious embarrassment, 'a little… jealous. And I… I know I shouldn't have… not really… but I… stole the diadem.'

Voldemort's eyebrows rose unintentionally, and The Grey Lady swiftly looked up at him for his reaction, but he dispersed his expression quickly, leaving behind a smooth mask of sympathy and understanding.

'I'm sure that anyone would have done the same, my lady. It's perfectly understandable.'

'Do you really believe so?' The Grey Lady asked, obviously yearning for his approval.

'I do,' said Voldemort, a glorious, mechanical smile sliding across his face.

She beamed back at him.

'But, yes…' she continued briskly, smiling sweetly to herself, 'I stole the diadem in an attempt to become a wonderful, clever witch in my own right, and presently fled to Albania. However, as my mother lay on her death bed, she told the Baron – who had long since loved me – that she must see me again before she died. So the Baron came looking for me, and found me in Albania. I refused to go with him to see my mother, and, in a hysterical fit of rage, stabbed me!'

She threw back her hair dramatically.

'Of course, he was so consumed with guilt that he soon after stabbed himself too. And I should think so!'

Voldemort feigned interest, but his patience was wavering.

'But the diadem! Where was the diadem?'

'The diadem?' The Grey Lady repeated blankly, obviously expecting him to be more impressed with her story, 'why, the diadem remains where I hid it, dear boy.'

'And where is that?' Voldemort said bluntly, fighting a snarl as his temper reached boiling point.

'In a tree trunk, in the depths of an Albanian forest.'

Voldemort stepped back absent-mindedly, his face blank and cool now, but red still gleamed in his eyes. For a split-second, a truly menacing, frighteningly happy grin flashed across his face, but in another it was gone… unnoticed.

'That was a most interesting story, Miss Ravenclaw,' he said eventually, his polite manner charming yet emotionless.

'Why, thank you. But don't tell anyone I told you this. It's not something I would like the entire of Hogwarts to know!'

'Of course not,' Voldemort smiled kindly, 'now, I'm terribly sorry, but I will have to escort you to the library another time. I'd forgotten that I had business to attend to.'

'Oh…' the Grey Lady muttered, disappointed, but then she said merrily,' that's fine, my dear. I do hope you will take me to the library some other time!'

Voldemort smiled again and wished her farewell, then briskly turned on his heel and strode down the corridor.

He could barely believe what his ears had just told him. The diadem of Ravenclaw…hidden safely away…undisturbed and unprotected in a tree trunk in Albania. It really was too good to be true.

How perfect a Horcrux that would make! But first, of course, he must find it…

How many trees could there _be_ in an Albanian forest?

'Ah, Tom!'

Voldemort stopped in his walk. He hadn't been aware of where he was going until he stopped and found himself on the second floor of the grand staircase, quiet and deserted as it was still lesson-time.

A soft burning built in his chest as he recognised the voice that came from behind him. He didn't need to see its owner to know who it belonged to.

'Good afternoon, Professor Dumbledore,' Voldemort said politely, turning to face the Transfiguration teacher.

'Good afternoon, Tom,' Dumbledore replied, returning the greetings. 'I hope you do not think it too impertinent of me to ask how your appointment with Professor Dippet went?'

Voldemort's teeth clenched together involuntarily. Dippet had evidently been advised by Dumbledore; Dumbledore was his right-hand man. Rage consumed Voldemort as he tried to keep his good manner, but Dumbledore had ruined his immediate plans and dreams…

'Why ask, Professor? It is perfectly clear that you knew of Professor Dippet's intentions all along,' Voldemort snarled, trying desperately to keep control of the anger that was slowly issuing from him.

Dumbledore scrutinized Voldemort over the rims of his glasses, his bright blue eyes examining patiently. His long auburn hair and beard were gradually greying now, and a few new wrinkles had appeared along his merry face. He looked slightly pained as he stared into Voldemort's eyes, as if he had been a cause of worry to him for some time.

'I'm very sorry, Tom. As Professor Dippet has obviously already told you, we believe that you are just a little too inexperienced as of yet –'

'_We_? _We_, Dumbledore?' Voldemort growled, his fury flowing from him thick and fast now, and he was completely unable to stench it, 'I was under the impression that Professor _Dippet_ ran this school, not you.'

'Now, Tom,' Dumbledore said a little warningly, but Voldemort was too angry to take heed, 'I simply advised Professor Dippet. It was his decision and his alone to act upon it. You must recognise that.'

Voldemort remained silent, his dark eyebrow twitching a little.

'I must say though, Tom,' Dumbledore continued, his eyes looking sadly and worriedly at Voldemort. 'You are undoubtedly the most intelligent wizard that Hogwarts has ever had the pleasure to teach, but I do sometimes doubt - and please, correct me if I am wrong - that you seek something much more than pure knowledge could ever give you. Please be truthful with me Tom, is that why you wanted this job so much?'

His eyes bored into Voldemorts, but still, he remained speechless. Did Dumbledore really believe that he would confess his hopes and dreams to _him_?

Loathing replaced anger now as Voldemort stared blankly at Dumbledore, their eyes never wavering from each others. Suddenly, Voldemort saw Dumbledore fall as a jet of green light hit him, his old face shocked and frozen, his body lying crumpled in a mangled heap upon the stone floor and he, Voldemort, laughing joyfully from above… but in reality, Dumbledore remained very much alive – annoyingly so – and though Voldemort's hand twitched a little towards his wand pocket as it struggled to carry out a dear wish, he withdrew it swiftly, knowing that – for now, at least – it was impossible and careless to think of doing such things.

_One day_… Voldemort consoled himself into thinking… _one day I will kill the old fool…_

And with that thought, he said, 'good afternoon, Professor Dumbledore,' and walked briskly down the stairs, his dark cloak swishing malevolently behind him and leaving a pool of worry and frustration in his wake.


	10. The Hog's Head

**A/N: Here's chapter 10, folks! Would really appreciate more reviews if you're still reading, like i said, I'm aiming to reach 50 by the end (now chapter 13 instead of 12). Thanks!**

**L.D.O.S. xxx**

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Chapter Ten

_Appearing from his thoughts, Voldemort found himself instantly pulled under again. Dumbledore had been lucky to escape death that one time… but oh, _so_ many more people had not been fortunate enough to get away from the great Lord Voldemort's wrath…_

The Hog's Head rattled and creaked with the cold wind that rustled through the cracks in the walls, and it's occupants huddled together over candles and small blue flames that nestled in jars. Settled in one corner of the room sat about a dozen people, who - unlike everyone else - remained still and seemingly warm. They wore black cloaks pulled up around their necks, and a thick, dark, furry hood hiding their eyes, and all sat perfectly silently. All except one.

'How long does it take to talk to someone, eh, Mulciber?' a small, red-haired man piped up. 'He's been hours, and he expects us just to wait here for him!!'

Cathair Breen looked up at Carbus Mulciber for agreement of his complaints, his freckled face shining with respect. Breen had changed little since his boyhood days, though he was older and had grown a small, curly moustache that matched the colour of his thinning hair.

'We will wait as long as the Dark Lord commands, _runt_,' Mulciber said slowly and threateningly, his shadowed face towering above Breen's, 'and it would do you well to remember where your loyalties lie.'

Breen twitched involuntarily, sinking a little into his rickety wooden chair.

Suddenly, Voldemort burst into the room, the door groaning behind him as he set across the old, creaking floorboards. He, too, wore a long black cloak, perhaps woven from the finest thread, though it was plain and a little ordinary-looking to the eye. As he pulled back the black hood that had shadowed his face, his face was shown to be as pale as the snowflakes that rested obediently on his shoulders and his eyes more scarlet than they had been in his time at Hogwarts. He commanded respect and fear simply by striding across the room, and instead of turning heads because of his handsome looks - which were now blurred and slightly distorted - he turned them out of curiosity or terror… for he was now, truly, Lord Voldemort.

The Death Eaters stood as Voldemort approached, uncaring that every eye in the bar was upon them and their master, and copied Voldemort by pulling back their own hoods. They waited until their master had sat before they too, became seated again.

'My Lord! How magnificent it is to be in your presence again!' Breen squeaked loudly at Voldemort. Mulciber glared at him icily for his fickleness, a quiet growl coming from deep in his chest.

Voldemort's face, which had been a mask of calm and blankness, abruptly transformed into an evil, mocking sneer.

'Do not waste my time, Cathair,' he said quietly, his voice as cold as the wind that still hurtled through the room, 'unlike you, _boy_, the _grown-ups_ have a little talk to attend to.'

The other Death Eaters laughed appreciatively, but were careful to keep their voices low. They knew the price they would pay if anything that they discussed became overheard.

Breen sunk even further into his chair, his cheeks as red as his hair.

'Dumbledore, just like Dippet before him, has refused me the job,' Voldemort continued simply, his face and voice devoid of any expression. He waited to see what his Death Eaters would do if he provided no source of guidance for their feelings.

For a moment, they stared blankly back at him. Voldemort raised a single, dark eyebrow.

'I thought Dumbledore said he would give you the job if you re-applied in a few years time?' Antonin Dolohov questioned bravely. A few of the others looked at him in slight admiration.

'Not quite,' Voldemort replied, his voice barely above a whisper, 'he gave me the _opportunity _of re-applying in a few years time. I was never guaranteed the job. Of course, I expected him to decline.'

'Then why did you even attempt it, my Lord?' Icarus Avery asked, but as soon as he said it, by the look on his face it was obvious he knew he had pushed his boundary of confidence too far.

Voldemort's eyes narrowed a little.

'Simply because I _believe_ something will not happen, Icarus, does not mean that it _will_ not. A little more charm, a little more persuasion, a little more… cunning is required, that is all. Why, if I'd given up on my dream ten years ago then where would I be, _Icarus_? A man who never put his knowledge to good use; a man who nobody knew, nobody _wanted_ to know; a man who had access to power, but was too foolish, too _weak _to reach out and take it. That's what I would be Icarus. Someone like _you_, I suppose.'

Avery's nostrils flared, and he cowered slightly in fear, though he was trying gallantly to hide it.

'But alas, my charm did not work on Dumbledore today,' Voldemort continued calmly as if he had never made that frightening, punishing speech, 'though I must say that my heart was not quite all in it.'

Silence ensued for a moment, until Marcellus Lestrange asked, 'but, isn't the plan ruined now, my Lord?'

'To take control of Hogwarts?' Voldemort said, 'for now, I suppose.'

The Death Eaters waited patiently for their master to continue and seemed to take a few seconds of silence before they realised that he was not going to add to this.

Voldemort recognised their longing for more information, but did not appease them. His plans for his Horcruxes and armies were to be conducted alone, as they always had been. It was always better not to confide in anyone unless completely necessary.

The thirteen men rose some five minutes later, wrapping their cloaks around them more and pulling up their hoods as they prepared themselves to walk out into the icy blizzard.

Lord Voldemort reached for the door handle of The Hog's Head, his black, dragonskin gloves barely brushing it before it was opened by someone on the other side – someone that stood illuminated in the doorway and made him freeze… out of shock rather than cold.


	11. Unforgivable

**A/N: Once again, I apologise for the lateness of updating, but I _have _been on holiday... if that's any excuse :) . Would really like to reach the 50 reviews landmark for by the end of this story, so please, again, if you read then review!!! Thank you so, so much.**

**Love, L.D.O.S. xxx**

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Chapter Eleven

Voldemort could not move, could not think… for a moment he could not even breathe… the shock was too overwhelming.

The person in front of him gracefully pulled back the hood of her lavender cloak, revealing a long, silvery-blonde mane of hair that shimmered down her back and stared at him with sparkling, navy-blue eyes, round with surprise. She had gained a few laughter lines across her face over these last few years, but they seemed only to enhance her grace. She was just as beautiful as she had always been, and yet, Adonia Breckenridge looked just as startled as Voldemort felt.

'_Tom Riddle_?' she finally murmured.

Voldemort flinched involuntarily, and suddenly, pure loathing and anger replaced the surprise. He glared at Adonia, fury threatening to engulf him… but the entire occupancy of the Hog's Head was watching them. No, it was better to continue this outside…

He stepped out into the cold, Adonia still half-smiling at him. Without the need for orders, the Death Eaters drifted casually to the other side of the snow-driven road, leaving Adonia and Voldemort perfectly alone.

He led her down a small alley that was hidden at the side of the tavern, her eyes never leaving his face.

Adonia's hood was drawn over her head again now, even though the snow had calmed since Voldemort had been out in it last. Her eyes were shining with something that he recognised – the look of infatuation and dreaminess, a look she had given him ever since their first kiss in her time at Hogwarts. He felt a quiver run down his spine. How he despised love.

'Indeed Adonia… it is I,' he smiled charmingly, taking her gloved hand in his. A shiver danced through his fingers, his palm and up to his elbow as he longed desperately to crush her hand in his. Un-noticing of his agony, Adonia smiled girlishly.

He was ecstatic to find, however, that as he stared back into those deep blue eyes… she had no effect on him anymore. No desires to kiss her or to hold her...just the feeling of complete loathing that he could not, and would not, banish.

'Oh, Tom…it's been much too long since I saw you last,' she simpered, and Voldemort resisted the natural urge to let out a low, threatening snarl. 'You've changed a little...' she added, pondering and examining his face, looking quite bewildered. 'You don't look very well at all, now I come to think of it… ever so pale…'

Voldemort bristled unintentionally. The Horcruxes had visibly muffled and distorted his handsome features, making his face chalky white which contrasted with the eyes that held a hint of crimson.

'I'm perfectly well,' he replied, his voice as smooth and soft as silk. 'However I must admit that… I am anything but _warm_.'

He drew a small, flirtatious smirk across his face, his dark eyes smouldering at hers.

To his surprise, Adonia blushed dramatically, her cheeks suddenly burning a bright scarlet.

'Tom…,' she began, her voice seeming a little reluctant, as if the words did not want to come from her mouth, 'I'm a married woman now.'

Voldemort raised his eyebrow suggestively, sickening himself as he did so.

'Besides,' Adonia said, sharply and suddenly, 'in my last few years of school we didn't speak! You completely and utterly ignored me! Why the change of heart, Mr. Riddle?'

Voldemort scowled, and anger scorched his heart as he yearned to scream and shout and cast a thousand curses at this beautiful yet hateful creature.

But he forced himself to lean closer to her, close enough to almost touch noses… breathing her breath. The sweetness of it was overwhelming, and the harshness of the scent dried the back of his throat for breathing it.

'Why ask?' he said roughly, yet the false longing in his voice still broke through.

'I'm a married woman, Tom,' Adonia repeated expressionlessly, yet she remained where she stood, with Voldemort smiling crookedly at her. She continued in the same mechanical manner, as if she were reading badly from a script…trying to convince herself of the meaning, 'I'm Mrs. Lionel Lovegood…and then there's my baby Xenophilius. I couldn't possibly –'

But at that moment she stopped talking, for Voldemort's lips were on hers.

The feelings that rushed through him at that precise moment were unlike anything he had ever felt before: the agony of what he was doing wrenched at his heart, threatening, it seemed, to tear it from his very body; His mind whirled with loathing, fury and disgust… not only for Adonia, but for himself as well; Her sickly scent engulfed him, dragging him to an abyss of terror from which, surely, he would never resurface… and her lips seemed to scald his, painfully withering them. And yet, the worst of all was undoubtedly the feeling that he was trapped now, unable to pull away and escape from this horrific torture…

But suddenly he found strength…and the kiss broke.

Then, in a split-second, his wand was in his hand and was pressed against Adonia's heart, who, in turn, looked bewilderedly at him. A long, leering smile spread slowly across Voldemort's face.

'Did you really believe I would fall for your trickery for a second time, Mrs. Lovegood?' he sneered.

'Tom, what are you doing?' Adonia asked a little stupidly, staring worriedly at the wand that pressed threateningly against her and then at the man she had just kissed.

Voldemort glared at her, a low snarl emanating from deep in his chest, his eyes momentarily gleaming scarlet.

Adonia started, alarmed and frightened.

'Did I not inform you many years ago, that my name was Voldemort?' he whispered icily.

When he received no more than a small, terrified squeak for a reply, he continued: 'Come now, Adonia. Even a filthy half-blood such as yourself must have heard of the stories… how the Muggle family from simply dropped like flies? How several witches and wizards have abruptly disappeared? How the Ministry is trying desperately and pathetically to identify and locate the murderer?'

Adonia was shaking a little now.

'I have read about th-them,' she muttered, 'in the D-Daily Prophet. The Ministry are s-saying they've found the murderer.'

Voldemort laughed, loudly and scornfully.

'They lie! Only a handful of people in this world know who Lord Voldemort is... and even fewer know that he is the murderer.'

Adonia gasped audibly. Voldemort cackled with malevolent laughter once again.

'And… and now you're going to kill me?' she questioned, her eyes full of fear.

Voldemort smiled evilly.

'You have caused me too much trouble over the years… so yes, I will kill you,' Voldemort stated simply, the smirk still playing over his face.

'I could scream,' Adonia informed him, raising her head proudly and valiantly.

'I could silence you,' Voldemort returned, moving his wand to her neck.

Adonia remained silent, breathless and petrified.

'No final requests, Adonia? No last, wise words or heart-wrenching speech?' he asked mockingly.

'None at all,' she replied steadily, all fear vanished from her face… replaced now by pure rage.

'Well, in that case –'

'One thing I must tell you though, _Tom_,' Adonia interrupted, much to Voldemort's fury, 'is this: one day – perhaps not tomorrow, or even the next – you'll meet a horrible end, because people like you always do. And the worst thing is, you probably won't even realise what's going to happen to you – not like I realise what is going to happen me in a few short moments – because you're too arrogant and inhuman even to care… and that, Tom Riddle, shows what a cold, horrific creature you truly are.'

For a moment, Voldemort froze, his face blank with shock. None of his victims had ever spoken to him like this… they had been much too scared. But this only increased his anger, as she dared to defy his threats.

'Very well said, Adonia,' Voldemort laughed humourlessly, 'a truly epic, Ravenclaw-worthy speech. Perhaps you should be rewarded...yes, I believe you should... Crucio!!'

Adonia fell to the ground, screaming in anguish – a scream he hastily staunched with a silencing charm. She clawed at his robes, as she yelled silently in terror. Voldemort kicked her off, laughing quietly.

He lifted both the curse and the charm at the same time, leaving Adonia lying in the snow, breathing heavily. She raised her head to look at the menacing face above her, still smiling cruelly. And Voldemort looked back at the woman who had fooled him and flawed his plans… and felt no remorse of regret in softly saying, 'Avada Kedavra.'

Voldemort left the little alley immediately, leaving Adonia's body still lying lifelessly in the snowy ground.

He crossed the street and was greeted wordlessly by his Death Eaters, until Cathair Breen unthinkingly piped up, 'so, did you kill her, my Lord?'

Voldemort spun to face him, the freckled man who still looked so like a little boy.

Unanswering of his question, Voldemort said, smiling sweetly and mechanically, 'you know, Cathair… I was wondering to myself one morning, what does Cathair Breen actually _do_ for his master? After all, Icarus provides a healthy facade at the Ministry, Marcellus has the fighting power of men and Antonin is a truly faithful spy… and then there's you. Please enlighten us to your role, Cathair.'

The other Death Eaters all laughed appreciatively as Cathair gaped in undisguised horror at Voldemort.

'I – I am a faithful f-friend, my Lord,' he said meekly, after some thought.

'Faithful?' Voldemort repeated sceptically, a long smirk across his pale face, 'that's not the word I would use at all Cathair. Weren't you telling Xavier just the a few short days ago of how you could be a better master than I am? And this very day, just a few minutes ago, you complained to Carbus about how long I was taking, among many other complaints and pitiful moans. Would you call _that_ faithful, Cathair?'

'Lies, my Lord!! All lies!' Cathair shrieked, evidently panicking.

Voldemort's jeering smile vanished instantly.

'And you dare to lie again,' he said. 'I'm afraid that simply isn't good enough, Cathair... Goodbye.'

A cold jet of green light hit Cathair Breen in the chest before he could reply, and he fell woodenly to the ground. The Death Eaters and their master Apparating immediately afterwards, their icy laughs still buzzing through the air.


End file.
